


in which things go okay, eventually

by thefigureinthecorner



Series: Days of Our Lives [1]
Category: My Candy Love
Genre: Castiel's genderfluid, Depression, F/M, Other, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Trans Characters, a lot of people are in this but they appear the most, also panromantic demisexual, because this is castiel, he doesn't figure it out until later though, nonbinary characters - Freeform, some violence, there are some OCs too but they're not too important, this actually isn't a very happy fic at first but it gets better i swear, you are castiel basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/pseuds/thefigureinthecorner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, you used to be a happy kid. You're not really sure where things went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the summary is terrible lol i'm sorry

You don’t see your parents much.

They leave often, and they’re usually gone for a few weeks at a time and then they return for a day or two before setting off again. You stay with your grandparents during those times for a few years, and then just your grandma. You’re not sure where grandpa went but he wouldn’t come back. All the adults told you he couldn’t. It takes a long time for you to find out why and by that point you don’t quite remember him enough to really be sad.

Your grandma only speaks Spanish, so you try to too. You pick it up quickly and eventually it’s just as easy as English.

\---

There’s this one blond kid at your school. You don’t like him because he’s mean to everyone and he bullies his sister a lot. His shirt’s all torn up and he has skinned knees and scrapes all over because he gets into fights. Your clothes aren't much better, but that’s because your grandma’s always too tired to leave the house for very long and your parents are always too busy to get you new clothes. You’re pretty sure the blond kid has no excuse. You’ve heard people on the playground say he’s actually a girl but you don’t believe that because you’ve also been told girls can’t hit hard and when you tried to defend his sister one day he gave you a black eye that didn’t go away for almost three weeks.

\---

On one of the few days that your parents are home to take you clothes shopping, you see a dress. You have to pass by all the girl clothes to get to the boy clothes and the dresses don’t usually catch your interest but this one does. You tug on your dad’s hand.

“Dad, can I get that?” You point at the dress. He looks at it and at you and just laughs.

“No, silly, dresses are for girls. You’re a boy. Come on, we’ll get you some more practical stuff.”

You decide not to ask again.

\---

The blond kid isn’t mean anymore.

His name is Nathaniel, you learn. There are some weird people who call him a girly name and you’re not sure why. You’re ten now and he’s eleven because his birthday comes before yours, and he’s taller than you. Even though he’s not mean anymore that makes you mad.

He was mean for a long time but one day he just stops. He stops and he gets quiet and doesn't smile as much. You think you see a bruise poking from under his collar one day as he’s reading through his math workbook but you figure it's nothing, just a shadow from his shirt.

When the school day lets out he bolts out of the room to walk home, as if being a little bit behind is the worst thing that could happen.

You don’t think it means anything.

\---

You’ve just turned twelve when your grandma dies.

It’s way too sunny and cheerful at the funeral and you feel like the weather is mocking you. She’s buried next to your grandpa and your mom’s been sobbing into your dad’s shoulder the whole time and he’s comforting her in a mix of languages. He mixes up languages a lot when he’s stressed. All of you do.

When almost everyone’s left the graveyard you sit down in front of the freshly-placed headstone and stare at the shiny black marble. _Rosa Camila Narcisa Martinéz,_ it reads. _In Loving Memory,_ and then some stuff in English and the same stuff in Spanish. You want to cry but you already cried everything out before the funeral and now you just feel heavy and a little sick to your stomach.

For all she was too tired to ever do much, she was more of a parent than your parents had ever been able to be.

\---

Your parents take time off work for a month. They have to stay with you until they can find another relative to dump you with.

You discover in that month that your dad gives very nice hugs and your mom’s cooking is amazing and that you love to help her bake. It distracts from the nagging heaviness that keeps trying to make you stay in bed all day doing nothing. Chocolate chip cookies are the best because they’re easy and they taste better than all the other cookies.

Your aunt Haruka, from your dad’s side, finally agrees to take you in. You’ve never met her but you have a week until you have to stay with her, because your parents call the airport they work at and tell them that’s how long it’ll be until they can go back in.

\---

Aunt Haruka, you discover, is not a relative you like much. 

She’s not a bad person, you don’t think, but she doesn’t move off the couch much at all and she doesn’t bother to look after you most of the time. Mostly she’s out of the house at work, and when she isn’t she just sits there drinking and looking blank and watching reruns of soap operas. She doesn’t speak much, either, and when she does it’s in a mix of broken English and Japanese. You end up learning Japanese for her just as you’d had to learn Spanish for your grandma, and it’s a little bit harder but you do it anyway.

You’re not sure why you put in the effort for her, considering she doesn’t do much of anything for you. Her apartment is a mess and it smells like smoke. When you’re not cooking (or microwaving) your own meals, you spend most of your time in your room because it smells less gross than the rest of the house. Sometimes she smokes in the kitchen and then you don’t eat because it smells too strong in there. You still end up smelling like her cigarettes and the kids at school don’t get very close to you anymore.

You lie on your bed curled up in an oversized hoodie and do nothing but listen to music and let Aunt Haruka do her own thing. It’s easier that way.

\---

You get nightmares frequently now. Before, you would wake up and your bed would be nice and soft and your grandma was there to assure you that it was just a dream and wasn’t real. You don’t have that anymore.

You sleep less, and the bags under your eyes grow. You get to a point where you’re always tired, but every time you fall asleep you don’t sleep for long because you always wake up panicking and then you stay awake the rest of the night. You get jumpy and the toaster becomes your worst enemy and your teachers always stare at you when you almost fall out of your seat every time there’s a sudden loud noise.

\---

Your teachers notice the smoke smell and the fact that you’ve suddenly lost a lot of weight and your sudden affinity for oversized clothes that you can hide yourself in. Most of them haven’t done anything about it but then one day you get called down to the counselor’s office.

The door shuts behind you and the room is very, very quiet.

“Castiel, is it?” The counselor looks kind but his voice is more gruff than you’d expected and you jump.

“Y-yeah. Uh, why am I here?”

“Your teachers are worried about you. According to them, you seem less enthusiastic in class.”

“... So?”

He doesn’t really respond to that, but he's not ignoring you. “Your grandma died not too long ago, correct?”

You nod slowly.

“Ever since then, your grades have dropped and some of your friends have come to me saying that you don’t talk to them much and you occasionally have outbursts of anger. A few people have also come to me commenting on how you suddenly seem to smell like smoke. You know, substance abuse-”

“I know,” you snap, before shrinking into your sweatshirt upon realizing you’ve just proven his point about your snappish-ness. “I’m not. Smoking, I mean. It’s my aunt. I’ve been staying with her because my grandma died. My parents aren’t around much because they’re airline workers so I have to stay with relatives.”

“Alright, that’s good to know. I just need to ask, though, has she hurt you at all?” You’re starting to feel like this is an interrogation.

“She hasn’t. She doesn’t actually do much, or talk much.”

His lips press into a thin line at that, and he seems to be studying you. You squirm, suddenly uncomfortable. Finally, after what feels like forever, he looks away and writes something down. He looks back up, presses his fingertips together into a point under his chin.

“I’m recommending that you see a therapist. I don’t think you’re dealing with your grief in a healthy manner and I’m worried that you’re becoming depressed.” He hands you the slip of paper. You stare at it for a bit.

“Can I go now,” you ask, and he nods, and you leave.

\---

The thing is, you can’t actually see your therapist unless your parents are home. Your aunt isn’t willing to take you to your appointments and the building is too far away for you to walk there so you just schedule visits for when your parents will be there. You want to tell them it’s fine and you don't need the therapy and they don't have to worry about it, but they're not having it. They want their happy little boy back, they say. You're not sure why, but that makes you uncomfortable.

There’s a month in between seeing the school counselor and seeing the therapist. When you do see her, she asks some fairly standard therapist-y questions about your mood (it’s been low for a while, you realize) and if you’ve ever thought about harming yourself (a couple times, but you tell her only once) and your eating habits (bad, and now that you’re talking about them they’re worse than you’d realized) and your family life (not so great at the moment), and she sits there and jots things down as you respond.

Finally she finishes asking questions and sits back for a moment before digging through the papers on her desk. She pulls out a slip of paper and scrawls some stuff down on it and hands it to you.

“A prescription,” she says upon seeing your confusion. “For antidepressants. From what you’ve told me today, I’m almost entirely certain you have depression. The prescription can’t fix everything but it can help with some of your symptoms and make it easier for you to function on a day-to-day basis.”

You nod, thank her, and leave once she’s told you to schedule another appointment in about three weeks.

Your mom’s waiting outside the door to the therapist’s office. You hand her the slip for the prescription and pass on the information about your next visit, and she smiles at you in a way that looks sad and doesn’t say anything. She places a hand in between your shoulderblades and rubs your back as the two of you walk out.

\---

The bright orange bottle and the dark red water bottle become the latest additions to your bedside table. You keep them there because you don’t want to have to walk to the bathroom to take them and you also don’t want your aunt to find them and try using them herself.

\---

The antidepressants work, kind of. They definitely make you feel more energetic but the downside to that is that however terrible your sleeping habits had been before, they’re even worse now. You get out of the house more now, though, and you appreciate that now you have the energy to get away from the gross-smelling apartment for a while.

There’s a clothing store in town you’ve never been to before that’s run by someone who looks like he’s only a year or two older than you. You’re not sure if he’s legally allowed to run it but from what you’ve heard he’s the one who designs all the clothes in there and since the clothing is so nice you decide that it’s probably for the best he does own this store.

You decide it’s about time you actually get some clothes that fit you and you end up walking out with two bags of mostly black items and one brown leather jacket that you really like the smell and weight of. The dresses catch your eye again but you don’t look at them.

\---

You first officially meet Deborah when you’re fifteen. She’s at the music store at the same time that you’re looking at guitars and the two of you brush hands as you reach for the picks. You lock eyes and you realize that she’s actually the pretty one who sits a few seats away from you in your history class.

“You play guitar?” She looks interested now and you think you might’ve melted.

“I’m, uh,” you clear your throat, “not really. I’m looking into it, though. It’s about time I got a hobby.” You don’t tell her that your therapist said you had to.

“You can learn with me, if you want. My dad’s gonna teach me. I’m looking into a career in music so I’m taking singing lessons, too. My house is open to practice.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you choke out, wiping your hands on your pant legs and reminding yourself to smile as you try and calm your racing heart.

She grins back and writes down her address for you. “Here, I’ll see you there.”

“See you.”

She checks out at the front of the store and leaves then and you almost forget to actually buy your guitar.

\---

The first day of lessons, you realize that you might just be hopelessly in love with this girl. She’s funny, and she has the best laugh you’ve ever heard, and her eyes are this vivid shade of blue that catch the light and crinkle up when she smiles. She’s got a dusting of freckles and long eyelashes and one of the cutest noses on the entire planet and everything about her is so amazing that you wonder what you ever did to deserve meeting her.

  
You start dating her before long and it’s the happiest you’ve been since you were twelve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are okay for a bit but we all know what's coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is shorter but i wanted to cut it off before the Deborah arc
> 
> also there is an Implied Brief Mildly Sexual Moment in this but honestly don't get too excited for it because it's literally absolutely nothing I just thought I'd warn you in case

You become legally independent when you’re sixteen.

Your parents figure that’ll be easier on you than having to stay with an aunt who can barely take care of herself, so they get everything sorted out and you live in a new apartment in the same complex as your aunt’s. It’s a bit smaller than hers was, but it’s okay. It’s practical and it’s cozy and, more importantly, it’s  _ yours.  _ Something about that makes you feel good.

Most of your stuff smells like smoke but you leave it on the balcony to air out and the smell goes away before long. All you’ve really got is clothes and bedsheets anyway, since all the furniture and everything else belonged to your aunt and everything in your apartment is newly bought.

You could put the antidepressants in the bathroom now if you wanted, but it’s harder for you to remember them that way and after the first day where you forget to take them in the morning you move them back to the bedside table.

\---

A month after you’ve moved and got everything settled in, Deborah comes over for the first time. She never had before because you didn’t want her to meet your aunt but now she can come over whenever she wants.

One particular time she comes over, she kisses you in the middle of watching a movie. She does a little more than kiss you and suddenly it’s all hands and lips and skin. You’re okay with the kissing, you’re a little less okay with the lack of clothing but okay nonetheless, but then her hands start to move to your waistband and you panic. You push her off and pull your shirt back on and try to regain control of your breathing.

She’s got a hand on your shoulder, you realize, and she’s rubbing little circles with her fingers.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she says, sitting beside you. “I didn’t think that’d freak you out so much. We can go back to kissing, if you like? We don’t have to do anything.”

You press your nose into her shoulder, into the butterfly tattoos, breathe in the scent of her perfume. “No, it’s alright. Just, we can cuddle and watch the movie, but I’m not feeling up to much else right now. Sorry, about all this,” you say, hands flopping uselessly before moving to gesture to yourself.

“You’re fine, it’s not your fault.”

The two of you lie back against the couch cushions again and the presence of her head on your chest makes you drowsy. The two of you fall asleep like that. You fall asleep like that a lot from there on out.

\---

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror one day after washing your face and you realize just how round your face is. Most of the guys your age you know have much more angular faces, but yours seems to have retained a lot of its baby fat and it’s pretty feminine, now that you look at it. You think you might prefer it that way.

Strangely enough, Deborah comments on exactly that later in the day. She says she wants to do your makeup, just to see what it’d look like, and you let her. Her hands are warm and soft and so you don’t mind at all.

It actually ends up looking really good on you. It feels weird on your face, and it makes your eyes itch a bit, but for some reason you feel comfortable in it.

You make a mental note to get some for yourself someday.

\---

The nice thing about having a girlfriend, you decide, is that your dad doesn’t question it when he uses the bathroom at your apartment one time and sees the eyeliner laying out on the counter. You realize as he walks in that you’ve forgotten to put it away, but either he doesn’t see it or he just doesn’t care to mention it.

The nice thing about Deborah, you decide, is that she doesn't question the fact that after the time she did your makeup, you've started wearing it on your own. She just gives you tips for making your eyeliner neater and choosing colors that go well on your face. You don't wear it to school, though, never to school. Just out in town sometimes.

You learn that the guy at the clothing store is named Leigh, and that he's a fairly distant person but he's very nice. He's noticed the makeup, you know has because his gaze always seems to linger on your face more when you wear it, but he doesn't acknowledge it at all. What he does do one day is offer to show you some clothes in the women's department you might like. Despite the nagging Dad Voice in the back of your mind saying that boys can't wear dresses, you take him up on the offer. After all, nothing had stopped you from wearing makeup, and it looked great on you.

Skirts, you discover that day, also look pretty great on you. There's one you try on with a crop top and altogether they go very nicely with the brown leather jacket you've been wearing for nearly two years now. Against your better judgement, you buy them. Part of you is scared your dad’ll find them, scared of what he’d think, but so long as you hide them when he and your mom visit that isn't an issue.

\---

Deborah’s introduced you to some of her friends, Melody and Kim and Violette, and you’re at a local café together for lunch. Melody’s a very kind person, and she smiles so much that you’re pretty sure she has the strongest face muscles of any person ever. Kim’s outgoing and a bit loud, but she has this ‘hurt-my-friends-and-I-end-you’ vibe to her that you like a lot. Violette’s a very shy and quiet person. According to Deborah, she wasn’t always like that, but she had been ever since her mom died last month. You’re pretty sure you understand. You’re also pretty sure Kim has a crush on Violette, but you keep your mouth shut.

None of them say anything about the makeup and that’s what you really love about this particular group. Somewhere along the way you realize you’re the only guy in the group, but you don’t particularly care. You fit right into the dynamic. Besides, all of you have one thing in common, and that’s your complete and utter hatred of Amber and her friends. Somehow Amber hasn’t quite gotten the memo that you’re already in a relationship and she keeps trying to get you to notice her.

Melody apparently has a thing for that blond guy, Nathaniel, who is also Amber’s brother. You never learned the name of the guy’s sister who you helped on the playground all those years ago, but now you know all too well who she is. Nathaniel isn’t as annoying as she is, though, and although you’re not friends with him you don’t particularly mind him. He seems nice now, even if he wasn’t in elementary school. You can kinda see why Melody likes him, and you keep telling her to go for it but she never does.

“I don’t really know him that well yet,” she says one day. “I really enjoy being around him but I’d like to get to know him more first.”

You can respect that.

\---

There’s a new girl at your school this year. She introduces herself to you as Iris, and the two of you become friends talking about guitar music. Her brother plays, apparently. He’s been playing longer than you have, despite being younger.

She’s even friendlier than Melody is, and you’re pretty sure her face has just permanently cramped itself into a smiling position because she seems to be incapable of stopping. She moved because her parents divorced, apparently, and her mom wanted a new start in a new town. She seems like she’s doing just fine, though, and by the end of the week she’s friends with just about half the school. You’re not sure how she does it.

\---

A month into the school year, a small production agency contacts you about your music. Apparently, one of their guys was out for dinner at that same local café on the night you and Deborah were performing. He’d listened to you guys play and thought you had some talent, and that you had the looks to make it too. A beautiful girl and a fresh-faced young man, with “equally beautiful and fresh” music, as he words it. They scheduled a time that you’d be able to audition in about a month. That phone call is the happiest call you’ve ever received, and you and Deborah are unable to sit still all through the rest of that day.

You feel lighter than you have in years, and Deborah is dancing around the living room for an hour.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is wrong
> 
> also quick warning for panic attacks, very mild violence, and extremely brief implied suicidal ideation in this chapter
> 
> some dialogue's been changed from the original, too, just because it doesn't flow very well in the actual game imo and it also doesn't exactly match my writing style either

Good things in your life never last and you really should’ve seen this coming.

You were feeling great that day, too, which doesn’t always happen. It’s nice out, sunny and warm without being too hot. It had rained last night, so the air smells good and although you have to dodge the worms on the sidewalk when you make your way to school that morning everything else is okay and you even hum a bit while you walk. The weeks have gone by quickly, and the weekend of your audition is approaching. Despite the nervousness, you feel confident-- you’re gonna get to produce your music professionally, you’ll finally have a drummer and maybe some extra players, and things are finally looking up.

The whole school day goes by way faster than usual and you barely remember any of it by the time you’re in the basement for your practice session with Deborah. It goes well, better than any of them have before due to the excitement buzzing through both of you, and you leave the basement grinning so hard your face hurts.

“That was great, there's no way they'll turn us down!” She’s bouncing on her toes.

You’re not one for bragging, but you’re feeling good. “With your voice and my pro guitar skills, we’re absolutely perfect.” You give her a quick kiss on the temple. She giggles, and you feel light enough that you could probably float away right here and now.

“Hey, that’s not very modest of you, Kitten.” You flush at the nickname and look away before she can get much satisfaction out of embarrassing you. Her smirk tells you that it didn’t work.

“Hey, don’t forget to meet me later, okay? I have something for you.” You pat your pocket-- there’s a box in there, a necklace with your initial hanging from a little black cord. You got yourself a matching one with hers. “And don’t be late!”

“I know, I know,” she smiles, “See you, Kitten!”

You roll your eyes at the deliberate use of the name. “You’re hopeless.”

Deborah runs into you again not much later, as you’re walking to the locker room to get ready for the basketball club meeting. The hold-up doesn’t bother you; they don’t really have you do much for the club anyway.

“C-Castiel,” she stutters out, looking nervous. Your happiness to see her quickly turns to concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong? And, wait, what happened to Kitten?” You smirk, but even without a mirror you can tell that the worry is still on your face.

“Oh, uh, right, Kitten. Um. Have you seen Nathaniel anywhere?”

“Yeah, I saw him right before our practice. He told us to be a little quieter this time.” She visibly relaxes.

“Wow, what a boring guy, huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “Nah, it’s really not his fault. Have you seen his parents? I’m surprised Amber gets away with even half the crap she does.”

“Even with parents like that, that’s no reason to stay around after school’s let out for so long. What a nerd.”

“Look, I’ve dealt with Amber since middle school, and I don’t even live with her. If I were in his shoes I’d be away from home for as long as possible too.” You pause, pressing a hand to her forehead. “You seem kinda pale, are you really sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, yeah. Anyway, sorry, gotta go. Don’t wanna keep you from your practice or anything.”

“Pff, yeah, that'd be a tragedy.”

Practice, like always, is uneventful and consists mainly of you sitting on the sidelines and (unsuccessfully) trying not to get hit by wayward basketballs. Luckily, you only get hit once this time; unluckily, it’s in the face, right on the bone under your eye.

“Ah- Jesus!” Your hands fly up to cover the newly acquired wound and you’re pretty sure you’re seeing stars for a few seconds.

“Oh, man, I am so so sorry,” the guy who threw the ball is running over to you, along with a couple other team members and the coach. You’re bent double, trying to get your face to stop radiating pain. You’re pretty sure it’s not as bad as it feels, but it hit a really sensitive spot and the sudden shock to the system is making you feel a bit dizzy.

“Hey, Leo, take Castiel to the nurse’s office to get some ice,” the coach orders, pointing to the redhead next to you. You shake your head.

“No, I’m fine, seriously, I can get there myself,” you interject, wincing. “It hurts but it’s really not as bad as it feels or looks. I’m okay, I promise.” The coach nods and dismisses you, and you walk out of the gym as fast as possible.

It’s weird how life seems to have it out for you today. Just your luck, the nurse’s office is through the student council room, and in the student council room up against one of the aggravatingly clean tables is the equally aggravating sight of your girlfriend in the midst of a passionate makeout session with Mr. Student Council President himself.

It takes you a while to process this.

“Wait, but- what-”

Nathaniel pulls away from Deborah. He looks flustered and under that he looks scared, or maybe guilty, and that guilt is all it takes for you to draw the conclusion that this whole situation had been initiated by him.

“What are you doing?!” You’re steadily getting angrier.

“Kitten, it’s not what it looks like-”

“Don’t take his side!” Deborah looks surprised for a moment, and for a moment you think you see a flicker of satisfaction. She’s glancing back and forth between you and Nathaniel now. You keep your glare steady on Nathaniel.

“Hey, woah, calm down,” Nathaniel says, backing up a bit and raising his hands in surrender. “She’s right, it’s not what you think, I just-”

You lunge at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Ah- what the hell?!” He falls to the ground with the force of the punch, grabbing the front of your shirt for balance and bringing you down with him.

“Deborah, get out,” you yell through gritted teeth. Nathaniel punches you back, right where you got hit earlier, and you fall off of him to the side with a pained grunt.

“You ass, listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions and punching me! This entire situation is absolutely not what you think, and neither is she. She doesn’t care about you at all.”

You’re stunned for a moment by the fact that Nathaniel, of all people, has used any sort of profanity, but you push yourself back up and end up straddling his chest, grabbing him by the collar. “And what the hell would you know about that?! You don’t know her like I do! She’s the only person who’s ever actually cared for me!”

“No, she’s not!” Nathaniel grabs your shirt again and flips you and suddenly your positions are reversed. “She doesn’t. Care. About. You.”

You’re pretty sure your mind shuts down after that because you can barely breathe. All you’re aware of is that you’ve punched Nathaniel again, and then everything hurts and Nathaniel’s being pulled off of you. You realize, through the haze, that although you had the size advantage, Nathaniel boxes fairly frequently and apparently that’s paid off. Lysander’s sitting you up and Iris and Amber and Kim are trying to get Nathaniel to calm down, and then there’s Deborah, standing off to the side and looking far too innocent.

You’re pretty sure you’re panicking again, just like in the living room with Deborah not too long ago. Your chest restricts and your face hurts and you’re pretty sure your nose is bleeding and everything is _too much-_

Lysander starts talking.

“Hey, it’s alright. I don’t know what exactly happened here, but it’s okay now. Everything’s fine. You’re safe. Can you look at me for a moment?”

His voice is soft and calming and as you look up to meet his eyes you discover that they’re mesmerizing to look at and extremely vibrant. His hands are on your shoulders and they feel strong, and you feel yourself relax marginally. He smiles, but his eyebrows are knitted with concern as he wipes up the blood that had dripped down your chin. “There are some teachers here who want to know what happened so they can decide what to do, but for now, you need to take some deep breaths, okay?”

You nod and inhale a few times. Your breath stutters a bit at first but eventually it gets back to a normal pace, and Lysander stands up to offer you a hand to help you up. You take it, and he pulls you into a standing position and makes sure you don’t fall back down when you stumble a bit on your shaky legs.

He walks with you to the principal’s office, where Deborah and Nathaniel and the other three who had broken up the fight were waiting. You barely remember walking there at all, and when you sit down across from Principal Shermansky you feel a stab of confusion as you begin to wonder how exactly you'd gotten there before realizing you must have just been running on autopilot. You still kind of are.

She asks you questions about what happened, who started the fight, what lead up to it. Surprisingly, although Nathaniel is the clear favorite out of the two of you, he gets the same consequence. It's not much, just one week of detention (“You're lucky you weren't suspended,” they tell you), but it only takes one look at the state of your face and arms for them to come to that decision. You may have started the fight, but while Nathaniel had gotten off with just a few small bruises, you'd ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye and a bunch of marks up and down your arms. They say that although they “cannot condone instigating violence,” they also recognize that “Nathaniel used more force than strictly necessary for self-defense given the situation.”

You're pretty sure some of the bruises Nathaniel shows them are a few days old, but you don't bring that up.

Once they're done talking with all of you, they let you go, ironically enough to get the very thing you had initially entered the student council room for. The ice packs feel good on the worst of the bruises, numbing the pain from a steady throb to a dull ache. You sit down in one of the empty classrooms, and Iris is there.

“Oh, they didn't give you anything for your nose!” She looks worried. You reach up and rub at your nose and, to your surprise, it's still bleeding lazily. Iris immediately begins searching for a Kleenex.

“I must've just not noticed it was still bleeding. I didn't talk to the nurse at all, just grabbed a couple ice packs from the freezer in there and left. Like, y’know, most people.”

“Still…”

Iris doesn't get to finish the sentence, as she's cut off by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out and answer it the second you notice it's the manager.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Castiel, it's Devon. I got a call from Deborah this morning and was wondering, were you aware that Deborah was planning on pursuing this audition by herself?”

You almost drop the phone.

“Um, no? She'd never mentioned anything, I just assumed-”

“Oh. Well, I'm sorry to have to be the one to break the news, then. If you talk to her, you might be able to change her mind, but she seemed pretty determined to go solo.”

Your hands feel numb. As you thank Devon and hang up, your voice feels numb, too. Iris begins rubbing comforting circles on your back but you can barely feel those, too.

And of course, cherry on top of your shit-sundae of a day, Deborah enters the room right at that moment. She takes in the scene and sits beside you on the desktop, looking (acting) just as concerned as Iris.

“Kitten, you shouldn't have…” she trails off, sighs, “And the two of you had seemed like you were finally getting along.”

You remain silent and elect to stare at the drops of blood on your jacket sleeve.

“If I can do anything, just let me know, okay?”

You look up at Iris, who's now standing to the side and looking apprehensive. “Hey, Iris, could you please leave us alone for a moment?”

She jumps. “Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um, about what happened.” She leaves, looking more nervous than you'd seen her since you first met.

“Why does she have to go? What's the big secret?” You can tell the lighthearted tone is fake. You can't bring yourself to look at her.

“I just got a call from the manager.”

Realization dawns on her face and the smile disappears. “I'm so sorry, Kitten. I tried to convince him to let you stay but he kept telling me I'd be better on my own.”

Something doesn't seem quite right here but everything about you right now feels too hollow to care. You bark out a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “God, this is all just my luck, isn't it? First I walk in on Nathaniel, of all people, trying to harass you, I get my ass royally handed to me, and now you're leaving without me. You know I have trouble keeping up long-distance communication with people.”

“Well, I guess it's not really worth it for us to continue, then, is it?”

Your chest feels like it's constricting again. “E-excuse me?”

“Logically, I mean. Say I make the audition, which is pretty likely in all honesty. I'm going to be traveling, and so distance isn't the only issue, it's time. There'll be barely any time to talk. Best to end it now on a positive note then drag it through the water until it drowns.”

“Positive? You call this positive?!” You can feel that hysteria bubbling up again and you try to force it back down.

“Kitten, I swear, I'm sorry, please understand-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice sounds choked, you know, and you also know that you absolutely do not get it, but you just want her to leave. She smiles reassuringly and gives you one last kiss on the forehead as she stands up.

“I’m glad, then. I just wish this didn't have to happen.”

You nod, not trusting your own voice. She walks out of the classroom, and you slide off of the desk and sit on the floor and let yourself cry.

\---

You let yourself cry a lot.

\---

Mostly things just feel empty, like the physical embodiment of static. You might not have been suspended, but you may as well be, because it's a full week before you show your face at school again. It's a week before you leave your apartment at all. It's not like you're short on food- you're not eating much because you're hardly ever hungry anyway and you've got enough frozen meals to last a while.

Like most of your food, the antidepressants sit untouched for a while. You imagine they won't do you much good at the moment so you shove the bottle in the medicine cabinet and pretend it never existed.

Your friends try to talk to you, but you don't answer, except for one text from Iris when she begins to get concerned that you might be dead. You assure her that you're not, but some snide voice in your head says you might as well be.

You try to ignore that.

\---

You likely would have dropped school altogether if not for Lysander coming by on the sixth day. Phone calls from friends have become routine now and you expected the ringtone but never the doorbell.

Figuring it's probably mail, or something, you ignore it, but it rings again a few minutes later. You wonder how long this might drag on.

The doorbell gets annoying soon enough and you finally force yourself to get up and answer. As you swing the door open you're met by a chin instead of eye contact and you look up to notice that it’s Lysander, in all his tall asymmetrical glory.

“Can I come in?” He doesn't look nervous but you can feel the emotion dripping off of him. Against your better judgement you let him in. You lead him to the couch and the two of you sit across from each other leaning on the opposite armrests.

You're fully aware that you look like a complete mess, and your apartment isn't faring much better. He doesn't comment on either of these things, and instead he seems to be inspecting the furniture. “You’ve got a pretty nice place.”

That surprises you. “Really? No, ‘please come back’ speech? You're just here to comment on the decor?”

Lysander chuckles and the room becomes infinitely less tense. “No, I just wanted to come by and make sure you were taking care of yourself properly. You didn't look so good last I saw you.”

You want to tell him you're fine but for some reason the words won't come out as easily as they did when you used to lie about that all the time. You cave in. “No, I guess I didn't.”

He hums and doesn't say anything. “Really, people are worried about you. I know I haven't talked to you much, but I'm worried too. Just because Deborah’s gone doesn't mean you have no future at all. I know you were banking on that production agency but there are other singers out there. This sucks, and I can't begin to know what you're going through, and yet I know for a fact that this isn't the end.”

You think about what he said for a minute. “Yeah, there are other singers, but who the hell would want to actually perform with me?”

“Well, I wouldn't mind.”

Your head snaps up.

“Wait, you? You sing?” 

He hums again, nods, sings a bit. You don't understand what he's singing but you're fairly certain the language is French and for all you care he could be singing in Klingon. His voice is beautiful.

You’ve found a new singer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy sorry for the long wait I kinda hit a wall w/ this fic for a bit
> 
> Also sorry for the shorter-than-usual chapter

It takes a while to get back in the swing of things. Lysander comes around the next day so that he can make sure you're actually going to go, and the two of you walk to school together. You still have your week of detentions to make up and a week of missed work on top of that, and although you're at least up and functioning, everything still feels foggy and distant. People notice; they pretend not to.

  
Out of all of that, though, the biggest issue is the missed work. You have three tests to make up, two essays, and more worksheets and book assignments than you care to count. Other than the tests, you end up doing none of it. You end up skipping class a lot, too. It's easier to pretend you don't care about your grades than it is to throw yourself into a panic trying to catch up only to inevitably crash and burn again.

  
Nathaniel doesn't speak to you. You don't speak to him. Neither of you mind.

\---

  
“You should dye your hair.”

  
It's Violette who brings this up at lunch one day, not looking up from her sandwich as she says it.

  
“Why do you say that?” You aren't trying to seem rude, here, but Violette looks alarmed regardless.

  
“Oh, no, I was just- you don't have to, or anything, but it can help. Coping, I mean. It helped for me, at least, back- back when my mom died. It helps you feel like you have some control over the situation, I guess. It's not exactly the same situation, or even kinda the same situation, but I just noticed you've been a bit off, still, and I was worried. Sorry.”

  
You're about to reassure her that it's fine and you know she didn't mean anything by it, but Kim jumps on the hair-dying idea before you can even open your mouth. “Oh, yeah, that's a great idea! You should dye it…” She squints, studies your face for a moment. “Blue. Dye it blue.”

  
“Nah, blue doesn't suit him,” Iris chimes in, eyebrows furrowed. “Purple, though, maybe. It's a bit warmer but kinda similar still.”

  
This goes on for a while, Kim, Iris, and Violette spouting off colors (no, not purple, Violette already has purple, maybe teal, no, magenta, no not magenta how about green) before you eventually speak up.

  
“Red seems good, I think.” Deborah hated red.

  
They pause, seemingly trying to envision it.

  
“That sounds great, actually.” Kim nods approvingly. The others agree.

  
“Guess there's that settled, then.”

  
\---

  
You have made a mistake.

  
Your hair bleached out well enough-- you'd expected it to go lighter, but turns out that without ritual sacrifice, black hair only really gets to a bright orange-yellow-- but you hadn't left the dye in long enough. A decent amount of it washed out, and now you're left with splotchy, mostly-pink hair that has a few patches of red and a few patches of blond and a lot of patches of embarrassing.

  
And then it hits you-- you only bought the one box of hair dye.

  
You'd have to go back out looking like this if you wanted to fix it.

  
Realistically, you could always cover your hair with a hat, but it's too hot out for that and it'd look weird with all your hair shoved under it. With a sigh, you opt to text Lysander.

  
“Hey, Lys, I screwed up.”

  
\---

  
As it turns out, Lysander was visiting family that weekend with his brother, so he couldn't get you the new box of hair dye. At this point it’s late and most of the stores are closed anyway, so the most you can do is shower and hope that the dye washes out a bit and evens itself up.

It works, for the most part, but you still end up with pink hair in the end. You don’t particularly mind, but a) it’s not your color, b) people can be jerks sometimes, c) it still looks terrible and blotchy, and d) you know for a fact Nathaniel’s going to tease you about it.

  
So, getting ready for school the next day, you go with Plan B and shove all your hair in a hat.

  
You hadn't been planning on running into Peggy. The moment she sees anything slightly off about anything, she ends up looking for answers-- in your case, this results in her grabbing the hat off your head in the hallway.

  
Well, shit.

  
You try and snatch the beanie back, but the damage has already been done; not only has everyone seen you, but she’s also taken a picture already and tossed the beanie at your chest with the most aggravatingly self-satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen in your life.

  
You shove it far enough down your head that it covers your eyebrows and hide in the bathroom the rest of the day.

  
\---

  
Iris texts you that night.

  
“ _Hey, heard about what happened with Peggy today. u ok?"_

  
Leave it to Iris to be concerned about something like this. “ _yeah, fine. just pissed is all, wasn't her business, for all she knew i had to shave my head for medical reasons or whatever so like. wow rude_ ”

  
The conversation doesn’t continue after that. You fix the hair dye.

  
\---

  
You’re not sure what happened, exactly.

  
You’re out walking around the city with Lysander, looking at the stores and trying various ice cream shops and talking about nothing in particular. After the first ice cream shop Lysander forces you to only get non-dairy items since that’s about as long as it takes him to remember you’re lactose intolerant.

  
That morning, you had decided today was a skirt day. Lysander doesn’t care; he’s the brother of the guy you buy your clothes from, after all. He glares at anyone who looks at you funny, they get intimidated because he’s tall, and everything works out.  
It starts when you’re rounding the street corner and you see an old lady struggling to pick up some change she’d dropped.

  
“Oh, hey, I can get that,” you offer, leaning over to help. She reminds you of your grandma, with her weak knees and the resulting difficulty she’d had picking stuff up. It’s strange, but you feel obligated to help her.

  
“Well, thank you! What a nice young girl,” she says, smiling up at you.

  
You freeze for a moment, almost open your mouth to say something, but instead just hand her the change and smile back. “No problem.”

  
Lysander looks at you with an eyebrow raised as the two of you walk away. You just shrug in response.

  
“I don’t know either.”

  
\---

  
The thing is, you really don’t know.

  
It’s been three weeks and you’re still not sure what to make of the incident. Logically you should have corrected her, told her you were a guy. That’s what anyone would do, but it’s what you didn’t. If anything, you actually felt happy with the situation at the time, and that’s what terrifies you.

  
You decide to text Lysander.

  
“ _Hey so i’ve been thinking abt that incident a few weeks ago with the old lady and i’m not sure what to think abt it_?”

  
Lysander replies half an hour later.

  
“ _I don’t think you have to feel any particular way about it at all. Anyway, it wasn’t that big a deal and it happened weeks ago. It’s not something to worry about now_.”

  
He tells you not to worry so you tell yourself the same and you try to stop thinking about it, but even pushed to the back of your mind you can't get rid of the deep-seated wrongness you feel.

  
\---

  
Lysander doesn't say as much, but he is absolutely smitten with this girl in the year above the two of you.

  
He makes zero effort to hide it, too-- all heart-eyed looks and find smiles and trembling hands. You would make fun of him for how obvious he was if it weren't for the fact that he seems so damn serious about this.

  
So instead of teasing him, one day, you elbow him in the side as she walks by and whisper “hey, now’s your chance!”

  
He doesn't talk to her, or you, for the rest of the day.

  
\---

  
When Lysander shows up to your apartment one day, the last thing you expect for him to do is bodily throw himself face-down on your couch with none of his usual grace and yell into the pillow.

  
“You, uh… You good there, buddy?”

  
Lysander doesn't say anything, nor does he move from his spot on the couch, but he shakes his head into the pillow and you pat his shoulder awkwardly.

  
“Wanna talk about it?”

  
He lifts his face about a centimeter off of the pillow and says only, “she likes my brother,” before shoving his face back into it. You wince.

  
“Yeah, that'll do it.” You pause for a minute. “You wanna eat a ton of ice cream and cry over Titanic with me?”

  
He sits up, finally, and looks at you exasperatedly. “Castiel, stop eating ice cream, you're going to die.”

  
“Yes but consider: it's mint chocolate chip.”

  
His face brightens at that, and you grin as you stand to go get some.

  
\---

  
“Two new students! _Two_!!”

  
You can't help but feel amused at how excited Iris is over this whole thing. “Yep, great, two new people who can hate my guts, I'm so glad.” She rolls her eyes.

  
“Okay, Mr. Teenage-Angst-Machine, we get it, you're in your emo phase. Just, give them a chance, yeah? I talked to one of them, they go by their first initial, M.-- I think you'd like them.”

  
You frown, confused. “Them?”

  
“Singular them, look it up, I don't have time to explain. I gotta get to class.”

  
You watch Iris leave and feel confused a bit longer before shrugging and pulling up Google. You get in the letters ‘s’ and ‘i’ before being interrupted by someone you've never seen before.

  
“Hi, I'm new!”

  
Goddammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the game begin, I guess


End file.
